


Heal This

by crowroad



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s02e17 Heart, Episode: s05e08 Changing Channels, Episode: s11e17 Red Meat, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Dean, Injured Sam, Post-Episode: s11e17 Red Meat, Psychic Wounds, Serious Injuries, Souls, Suicide Attempt, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 18:22:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6621367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowroad/pseuds/crowroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what a wound looks like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heal This

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [SPNaPo We've Got Words to Do Challenge](http://spnapo.livejournal.com/).  
> Prompt: “…a penknife, some dental floss, a sewing needle, and a fifth of whiskey.”-Changing Channels

 

I shot her, Sam mutters, delirious, all those years ago.

She asked me to. She was a wolf.

*****

This is what a wound looks like: bullet, claw, spellwork, tooth. Things that tear at the body, at what’s beneath. Sammy: gut-shot. Dean: consumed. Swallowed and thrown up again on the road-tides of the world.

The road smells like fern, the cabin like _were_ and _reap_. Sam goes down and there’s memory.

How psychic wounds are the worst, the inward fry, possession; the dentin-crackle, grace.

How this, pit unstitched, is death.

You kneel. You dig. You work with what you have.

(That patch-up, pink-flowered, bandana; sutures waxed true with peppermint; duct tape, pin, hairpin, all that holds you, ripped, in stitchworked bits, unwhole.)

*****

Gut-shot hurts, Lucifer’s liquor poured through scorched ribs, where once--

Gently excised: one spirit, one will to live.

*****

Dean: fresh from death. Sam: same.

After, they slept in the same nest, flesh to fleshwork, meat & soul, where once, Dean says, _you mined for bullet in a trickster’s game, and played_

_savior with your doctor’s hands, Sam, your gut-shot soul._

Heal this, with just your hands.


End file.
